


the story of how noel and russell failed to get off with each other several times (but managed it eventually)

by likecharity



Category: British Comedy RPF, The Mighty Boosh RPF
Genre: M/M, Sexual Dysfunction, Sexual Frustration
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-12-23
Updated: 2007-12-23
Packaged: 2018-10-25 11:06:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,475
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10762995
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/likecharity/pseuds/likecharity
Summary: The two of them lie on the bed for fully five minutes before either speaks.And then Russell, running a damp and sweaty hand through the tangles of his hair, sighs and says, "Well. That was embarrassing."Noel rolls over onto his side and shuffles closer, his lips brushing the bare skin of Russell's shoulder. "A little," he agrees, and before he has a chance to continue, Russell interrupts him."Me! Russell Brand! Casanova, philanderer, Shagger of the Year 2006," he throws his arms down over the sheets in frustration before finishing his sentence with another sigh, "and I can't even get a fuckin' stiffy."





	the story of how noel and russell failed to get off with each other several times (but managed it eventually)

**Author's Note:**

> Warning for mentions of past drug addiction.

**1.**

It's after the filming of the Big Fat Quiz of the Year 2007 and they're in Noel's dressing room, surrounded by a surprising lack of drinks or drugs or any of the usual suspect items that tend to get people to abandon their inhibitions and/or dignity, but they're making out like desperately horny teenagers nonetheless.

Russell manages to peel himself off of Noel, and uses a few precious seconds that _could_ be spent kissing to ask, "Why the fucking _hell_ did we not do this sooner?"

Noel responds with some kind of strange mix between a shrug and a shaking of the head, then pulls Russell back on top of him by his shirt. He smashes their mouths together so urgently that it seems he believes there is a possibility that prolonged deprivation of Russell's mouth will, in fact, kill him.

Noel's hand snakes down Russell's body, pushing apart his denim-clad thighs and rubbing against the seam at his crotch. With his other hand, Noel removes Russell's fingers from where they are threaded through his straightened black hair, and brings them down to his crotch, letting him feel the quickly-growing bulge in his trousers.

Something rings in Russell's brain like alarm bells, and for reasons he absolutely cannot even _begin_ to fathom, he is actually thankful when there is a knock at the door.

They both learn, that night, that nobody can kill a mood in quite the same way that Jimmy Carr can.

 

**2.**

He doesn't feel comfortable in Noel's house. There are quite a few reasons why. The main one is that he's always on edge, constantly looking through windows and listening out for keys in doors, paranoid that Noel's girlfriend is going to come home unannounced at any moment. Even when Noel assures him she's not around, that she's out shopping, DJing, hell, even when Noel tells him she's in _Berlin_ , he's still anxious about it.

There's other things, too, though. There's something about Noel's house that makes him think of all the things he doesn't actually _know_ about the other man, all the things he's not a part of. There are so many things that make him uncomfortable to look at, even if he doesn't know why—the wardrobe that Noel and Dee share ("It's easier that way," Noel says to him when he questions it, "we borrow each other's clothes all the time anyway."), half-finished paintings, scribbled scripts of comedy sketches with Julian Barratt's name on, various Christmas presents that make Russell wonder who they're for. One time, freshening up in the bathroom, he finds a tiny plastic baby on a string next to the sink, and he knows there must be a story behind it, but he's scared to ask.

It is because of these things—or so he tells himself—that on his third visit to Noel's house, about a week before Christmas, he ends up faking a vitally important phone call and hurrying off back home almost immediately after Noel invites him into the bedroom.

But at least he _knows_ his reasoning is ridiculous. It's not as though he's completely deluded. He knows that the things he tells himself make no sense whatsoever, and that's got to count for something.

It'd be useful if he could find something that _did_ make sense, though.

 

**3.**

Russell really fancies Noel. He really, really does, and he's pretty sure by now that he always has. There was a sort of admiration, the kind of confusing admiration that comedians always have for each other, confusing because it's always mixed with several other things, like a hint of jealousy and maybe a little bit of superiority as well. But with Noel, it was even worse, because there was something extra, something he'd never really experienced before. Something that made him sit up and take notice when Noel did something new with his hair, or when he was wearing really tight trousers.

And usually, when Russell fancies somebody, they can easily become the subject of some rather shocking and naughty sexual fantasies that keep him warm at night. (Or in the day. Whenever, really.)

He does not see Noel over Christmas, and finds it rather hard to cope without him. When he gets back from his Mum's on Boxing Day, he realises he's going to have to come up with a substitute for Noel, at least for the meantime.

He tries. He tries hard.

He stands with his back pressed against the shower wall, morning hard-on aching almost painfully, and he imagines Noel on his knees, gorgeous sweet blue eyes staring up at him, shiny glossy lips closing around the head of his cock. He curls his fingers around himself, letting the images flash through his mind, and he lets out a groan.

But whenever he thinks he's getting close, some kind of _block_ pops up in his head, and he just _cannot_ come, much as he wants to.

Nearly fifteen minutes later, erection wilting, he gives up and just washes his hair instead.

He tries again the next day, stripping off and lying naked in bed, leisurely stroking his stiffening cock as he imagines Noel on all fours, craning his neck and looking back at him, begging for it like a little whore, _please Russell, please fuck me, I need it, please..._

Much the same result.

One time, he tries excluding himself from the fantasy altogether, and instead imagines what Noel gets up to when Dee is at home. He's met her only once, but once is enough to give him a pretty fair idea of what their sex life is like, and, with the sheets tangled around his ankles, he starts to stroke himself, picturing Dee and Noel together. He closes his eyes and sees them kissing, shaggy black hair and skinny frames making them mirror images of each other.

He spits into his hand and tightens his grip, seeing Dee pushing Noel onto the bed and stripping him, tying his wrists to the bedposts, blindfolding him. She's fully-dressed in his mind, short black skirt and one of those t-shirts, the ones that are always lying around Noel's house, bright pink with the slogan _The Sex Has Made Me Stupid_ —it seems to fit. He imagines her pulling up her skirt, revealing that she's got no underwear on, and straddling Noel's face, grinding back and forth against his mouth, making him lick her until she comes.

Twenty minutes pass, and he pulls and tugs at his cock urgently, orgasm ever close but never coming. Finally he gives in, aching between his legs as he lies there, worn out but completely unsatisfied.

The next night, he imagines Noel and _Julian_ together. Noel's barely even mentioned Julian in his presence, but Russell likes to think of himself as extremely perceptive, and he's seen them together, and he can't get rid of the nagging thought in his mind that there's even more between the two of them than they let on.

The Noel in his mind is just as slutty and submissive as always, and he imagines the fucked-up beauty of a relationship like his and Julian's, the fierce togetherness of a decade-long friendship, mixed with the differences in their personalities and the complications of Julian's marriage.

He imagines a night spent drinking tea and script-writing for _The Mighty Boosh_ , imagines eventual sexually-charged arguments where Noel smashes crockery and Julian says, under his breath, things like _temper, temper,_. He imagines them fucking suddenly and furiously on something like a coffee table or a counter, Noel with his legs wrapped round Julian's body, shiny silver boots left on with the heels digging into Julian's back, eyes rolling back in his head as Julian fucks him ruthlessly.

He gets closer than ever, teetering on the edge, imagination teasing him, but something's in the way, something he wants to fucking _destroy_ , and after a further frustrating and utterly futile ten minutes, he gives up, angry, throwing a book across the room and smashing a picture frame for good measure.

 

**4.**

Noel rings him up about a week later, asking two rather puzzling questions before even saying 'hello'.

The first is "How's your Mum?" and this confuses Russell for a good few seconds before he remembers that the last time he spoke to Noel, he was hurrying out of the house and spouting lies about his mother ringing up and telling him she was ill.

He regains his composure and lies a bit more, and then Noel asks the second question, voice cheeky and low on the other end of the phone line. "What're you wearing?"

It turns out that Noel Fielding is not, actually, very good at phone sex, but that's all right because Russell would be lying if he said he was particularly good himself.

There are no issues with shyness or anything like that, it's just that Noel is rather bad at multi-tasking, and, as Russell lies on the sofa, hand sliding slickly over his cock for what feels like the hundredth useless time that fortnight, he is treated to several minutes of Noel's heavy breathing and hissed swearwords, but not very much in the way of erotic description at all.

The sound of Noel wanking off on the other end of the phone should be enough. It is, after all, certainly enough to turn Russell into a sweaty, desperate mess, tugging frantically on his cock and muttering dirty things down the reciever, listening to Noel's breath catching in his throat, listening to "Fuck, Russell, please", listening to Noel coming with a sharp gasp and a groan.

But there's nothing. The mental images Russell's having are undoubtedly extremely arousing, but for God knows what reason, they _cannot get him off._

He increases the volume of his moaning and groaning for a little while and ends it all with a "Christ, Noel, _yes_ ," and lies back on the sofa, feeling defeated and pathetic.

"That was fun," comes Noel's breathless voice from the phone. "D'you want to do it in the same room some time?"

They arrange for Noel to come round in a couple of days.

 

**5.**

The two of them lie on the bed for fully five minutes before either speaks.

And then Russell, running a damp and sweaty hand through the tangles of his hair, sighs and says, "Well. That was embarrassing."

Noel rolls over onto his side and shuffles closer, his lips brushing the bare skin of Russell's shoulder. "A little," he agrees, and before he has a chance to continue, Russell interrupts him.

"Me! Russell Brand! Casanova, philanderer, Shagger of the Year 2006," he throws his arms down over the sheets in frustration before finishing his sentence with another sigh, "and I can't even get a fuckin' stiffy."

Unperturbed, Noel moves closer still, nestling his face into Russell's wild mane of hair and gently kissing his neck. "'s not your fault," he says, voice muffled.

"Oh, no, it couldn't be," Russell snaps, voice thick with sarcasm. He tries to ignore the feeling of Noel's soft lips travelling over the skin of his neck, instead staring at the ceiling and watching a tiny bug on its adventurous travels across the plaster. "It must be the fault of the utterly naked and ludicrously sexy man in bed with me. That must be it. I ask you, Noel, how could I possibly be expected to get a hard-on in the company of a man as sinfully and shamelessly scrumptious as yourself?"

"Shh," Noel grumbles, "I'm too tired for alliteration; it's making my head go all funny."

Russell heaves a sigh.

"Alright," Noel says, "I think I've worked it out anyway. For one thing, you're right. I don't really think it's anybody's _fault_ , but you've got to admit that the fact that I'm a man's got something to do with it."

Russell frowns. Noel shuffles back and props himself up on his elbow, resting his head on his hand.

"Now, Noel," Russell begins, still staring straight ahead at the ceiling, still following the tiny bug's route with his eyes. "We both know that I'm usually the first to assert my heterosexuality, but for the sake of this discussion, it does need to be made clear that I fancy you. Rather a lot."

Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Noel nodding.

"I'm not denying that you fancy me," Noel says, with the sort of casual confidence that he somehow always manages to keep devoid of conceit. "I'm just saying you should probably consider that the last time you were in contact with another man's genitals, you were a drug addict wanking off a stranger in a toilet."

After a moment, he adds, sounding rather proud, "I read your Booky Wook."

Russell is taken aback, but he tries very hard to hide it. "That," he says, "is irrelevant."

But something goes wrong in the words' journey from his mind to his mouth, and somehow a full-stop turns into a bit of a half-formed question mark, and he ends up not sounding very sure of himself at all.

"Okay," says Noel, and he edges to the side of the bed to sit up and struggle into his jeans. "I'm no therapist. I just think it might be connected. But that's for you to work out for yourself. I can't help if you ignore my input. D'you know where my t-shirt's got to?"

Russell finally sits up and looks at him, and when he meets Noel's big blue eyes he finds himself feeling just what he dreaded he would—mortified. He averts his gaze. "What are you doing?"

"Going home," Noel says with a shrug. "It's probably best. Give me a call later, though, yeah?"

 

**6.**

Russell does not want to give Noel a call.

He does not enjoy being wrong, and he has the horrible, sinking feeling that Noel is right.

He stamps around his kitchen, pacing back and forth, confusing the cat. The phone taunts him from the corner of the room.

It's not as if he was having actual _flashbacks_ or anything like that, but there was definitely something similar going on. It'd been okay, it'd been _good_ at first, kissing Noel, touching Noel, undressing Noel—plenty of fun—but then he started feeling a bit sick and he thought vaguely and briefly of cold clammy toilet cubicles and a complete stranger and discomfort and clumsiness and nearly emptying out the soap dispensers once it was all over.

And Noel was understanding, sure, but it was just _awful_ that it'd happened in the first place. To fail at masturbating was pretty _weird_ but generally okay, because he was the only one to know about that, but to be completely unable of getting a hard-on whilst in the middle of something that really pretty much _demands_ a hard-on to be present—

Well, it was just humiliating.

He remembers how sweet Noel was, how he kept trying, kissing his cock, stroking it, and how Russell, ashamed, had to push him away eventually. He remembers how he tried to ignore himself and concentrate on Noel instead, but how the second he wrapped his fist around Noel's erection the thoughts came back and he was back in that pub toilet, hooked on heroin, stupid, insane, doing anything for a challenge and what he foolishly called a laugh.

It isn't that Noel physically reminds him of that man—a faceless stranger in his mind, now—or that he doesn't want to touch him, to get him off. Far from it. It's not that a physical sexual act with a man disgusts him, because he wants Noel, wants to touch him, suck him, fuck him.

It's just that something about all of it takes him back to the time when everything was an addiction, everything was a problem, an issue, something that needed a fix, and when he was just a shapeless, brainless _thing_ of a man, dependent on sex and drugs and drink.

And this is not something he wants Noel to become involved in.

He doesn't pick up the phone.

 

**7.**

Noel does, nearly three weeks later.

By this time, Russell is absolutely miserable, irritable, short-tempered and highly-strung. Matt even made a joke to him the other day, saying Russell was so grumpy lately and he obviously 'needed to get laid', finding it hilarious— _Geddit, geddit? 'Cos you're Russell Brand, you get laid ten times a day, mate!_

"What?" Russell snaps into the phone when he picks it up.

"Russell, mate, it's me," Noel says, not needing to give a name for Russell to know. "I was wondering why you never called. That's your style, though, isn't it? The one-night stand? You say you'll call me, and I'm sitting at home by the phone, heartbroken, waiting for your call, writing letters to agony aunts and crying myself to sleep at night..."

Russell rubs his temples. "It couldn't've been a one-night stand," is all he says. "We didn't even manage to fuck, now, did we?"

There is a pause, and then Noel's voice comes back, with less cheer in it than previously. He almost sounds pissed off. "Look Russell, I don't get why you're making a big deal of it," he snaps. " _I_ didn't make a big deal of it. _I_ don't have a problem with it. I want to—"

He breaks off suddenly, and Russell hears talking in the background. He panics, thinking it might be Dee, but the voice is too deep.

"I want to be with you," Noel continues, voice much quieter. "And I don't see why you're letting this get in the way. Let me help you work through it."

"Thought you weren't a therapist," Russell says.

Noel laughs, and Russell can't help but smile at the sound of it, imagining Noel's huge grin, eyes crinkling at the corners. "I could be a sex therapist," Noel says, and Russell laughs. "C'mon. Please. We've got all the time in the world. Stop being such a grumpy twat and let me help."

 

**8.**

He still feels horribly embarrassed when Noel is back in his bedroom again, dressed in his ribcage t-shirt and black cape (repeating the outfit from the filming of the Big Fat Quiz, and Russell doesn't know if it's on purpose or not), and holding out a CD.

"IAMX," Noel says happily.

Russell wracks his brains, mentally jumping from person to person in the complex network of people Noel and Julian are connected to. "Sue's boyfriend?" he says eventually, and Noel nods quickly and heads over to the CD player right away, showing that this fact is perhaps not actually relevant.

"It always gets me going," Noel says, flicking back his hair as he bends over to put the CD in. "I promise you this will work."

Russell feels a surge of annoyance. "Do you really think I have problems _getting going?_ " he asks angrily as the first track starts up with a sort of whining screech of a sound before going into an electronic beat that he has to admit is really pretty sexy.

"What?" says Noel, turning around, face falling.

"I haven't had an orgasm in fucking _months_ ," Russell snaps. "I'm _always_ fucking going."

Noel looks down at his feet like a child being told off. "I'm sorry," he says. "I just thought—"

"Yeah, well, maybe," Russell says. "If you weren't so fucking condescending about the whole thing." He puts on a voice, high and obnoxious, annoying even himself, "Oh, here, Russell, you poor sexually-deprived little thing, let's listen to some music, I assure you it'll get your cock hard in seconds and all of our problems will be gone forever!"

Noel's eyes darken. He turns and punches the buttons on the CD player, shoving his CD back in its case before turning on his heel and storming out of the bedroom.

Russell kicks the dresser, listening to Noel stamp down the stairs.

"Fuck. Fuck it. Noel, I'm sorry! Come back!" he shouts, chasing after him, getting to the front door just as Noel is slamming it behind him.

 

**9.**

In a gesture that he is really rather proud of himself for, Russell goes over to Noel's house to apologise in person the next day. He knows that Dee is out of town, so he feels safe turning up unannounced, but as he stands there on the doorstep, pressing the doorbell repeatedly and not getting an answer, he starts to worry.

Eventually, he hears footsteps, floorboards creaking, muttered cursing, and then finally the door opens. Noel stands before him looking completely dishevelled. His hair is a total mess, and Russell knows enough about messy hair to be able to tell that this is the accidental kind as opposed to the intentional. His t-shirt is on backwards and also possibly inside-out, and his fly is undone.

"Russell!"

"Am I interrupting something?"

A pause.

Russell is, quite frankly, a little terrified of the idea that Dee is—for whatever reason—at home, and he's just managed to interrupt the two of them shagging, and now he's going to have to come up with some excuse as to why he's here. He stammers a little, and Noel seems to take pity on him.

"Listen—Russell—it's not a very good time—" is as far as he gets before there is some noise from down the hall that makes Noel whip his head around.

Russell follows his gaze, leaning forwards to look into the house, and he sees Julian Barratt leaning into view from the living room door, clad in an unbuttoned shirt, lower half of his body not visible and therefore presumably naked.

Russell takes a step backwards.

This is rather unlike him, but he doesn't know what the hell to do in a situation like this, so he just leaves.

It seems to be all he _can_ do, in the grand scheme of things.

 

**10.**

"I can't believe the two of you are fucking."

Noel frowns and picks at his sleeve. He seems surprised. "Really?"

Russell thinks about this for a moment. "No," he says. "Actually I _can_ believe it. I suspected it, even. It's probably the worst-kept secret in the universe, if I'm brutally honest, so I don't know why I said that just then. I guess I just can't believe I walked in on it."

Noel chuckles and shakes his head. "And all this time," he sighs, "we thought we were being subtle."

Russell laughs.

The two of them sit in silence for a little while, but it's a comfortable silence, not an awkward one, and this helps Russell feel safer in saying what he says next.

"Has there ever been a time," he begins, "where the two of you've been working on a script, right, and then you've started arguing—"

"Arguing about what?" Noel interrupts, looking curious.

"Oh, I dunno," Russell says, waving his hand, "that bit doesn't matter. What matters is what the argument leads to."

"Oh?" says Noel, grinning, intrigued. "What does the argument lead to?"

"Well, you have a bit of a temper tantrum—"

"Do I throw things around?" Noel interrupts again.

"Yeah. Teacups or mugs or whatever. Stuff that smashes," Russell says. Noel seems satisfied with this answer. "And Julian's all pompous and patronising and it just makes you even more angry, right, and before you know it, you're kissing him just to make him shut up—"

Noel laughs, but it's more of a knowing, sympathetic laugh than a dismissive one.

"And then—and then—" Russell falters at this point, remembering his fantasy, images flashing into his mind before he can stop them. He swallows.

Noel fills in for him. "And then he fucks me? Is that what you're getting at?" he asks with a wicked grin.

Russell can only nod, and Noel grins even wider.

"Is that—is that a 'yes', then?"

"I forgot you even asked a question," Noel says. "I would've thought the answer'd be obvious by now."

"Oh, you fucking _tease!_ " Russell cries. "Go on."

Noel does, and after an extremely long and detailed account of what is, in fact, how Noel and Julian's relationship became sexual, Russell finds himself lying naked in bed with Noel on top of him.

He did not think this would ever happen again.

They are only kissing to begin with, Noel hyper-aware all of a sudden, sensitive and careful. He barely touches Russell, though the evidence of Russell's arousal is hard to ignore as it digs into his thigh. Noel keeps his hands firmly above Russell's waist, fingers gently stroking his chest, teasing his nipples.

Russell's lips slide over Noel's, and part as Noel's tongue slips into his mouth. He grips Noel's back tighter, digging his fingernails in like Noel told him Julian always does, one hand twisted in his hair. His erection aches between his legs.

"Please," he groans against Noel's lips, "touch me."

Noel's hand skims his hipbone, then stops. "Can—" he says quietly, then frowns, eyes hesitant and uncertain as they look at Russell from beneath his fringe, "Can you try and touch _me?_ "

In any other situation it'd sound horribly selfish, but Russell knows what Noel's trying to do, and for a moment he thinks it's ridiculous even to ask, because—at least in this moment—it doesn't seem difficult, doesn't seem to take him anywhere. It's just something he wants to do.

He reaches down, hand sliding down Noel's sweat-slick stomach to the sudden sparse hair between his legs. Noel rolls over, letting Russell clamber on top of him, and Russell stares for a moment at the other man's cock; stiff, thick, glistening with precome at the tip.

He thinks briefly of the man in the toilet, but voluntarily this time, letting himself remember the faint disgust he felt upon seeing this stranger's cock, the way it looked so foreign and unattractive, and how the last thing he wanted to do was to touch it. But Noel's cock is nothing like this. Noel is no stranger, no experiment, no fuel for TV ratings. Noel is somebody that Russell very much fancies, and when Russell fancies someone, he pretty much _always_ wants to touch what's between their legs.

No shame in that.

Noel raises his hips a little, tentatively, as if to say _go on_ , and Russell settles himself on Noel's thighs and reaches confidently, fingers curling around Noel's length and tightening, making Noel suck in a sharp breath and grab at the bedsheets.

 _Yes,_ thinks Russell, satisfied. This is sex. This is what he's good at.

He brings his hand up and down a few times, almost lazily, and then skims the head of Noel's cock with his thumb, spreading a little bead of precome down the shaft, and Noel thrashes and groans, hips bucking.

"How's this?" Russell says with a grin, fist sliding down to the base of Noel's cock and back up again, increasing the speed, jerking up and down, slick and hot.

"G-good," Noel chokes out, hands tightly grabbing fistfuls of the undersheet, pulling it free from the mattress.

Russell beams triumphantly. His confidence is definitely back. He tightens his grip, twists his wrist, all the while watching Noel, watching the way his cheeks colour and his eyes flutter closed.

"Fuck, Russell," Noel groans, eyes flickering open again, hazy blue and heavy-lidded. He reaches forward, hand curling over Russell's shoulder, and pulls him down on top of him, trapping his own cock and Russell's hand between their sweaty stomachs.

Russell keeps his hand working as Noel licks and bites at his mouth, rough wet slides of lips and tongues in between Noel's moaning and whimpering. He feels himself growing harder still, dribbling precome against the jut of Noel's hipbone, and Noel wraps his arm around his back, clutching tightly, fingertips pressing into his skin.

Russell's hand slides faster, tense and tight around Noel's cock, his heart thudding and his cock throbbing. He brings his other hand up to Noel's face, brushing the black hair out of his eyes, and Noel stretches his neck and takes Russell's finger between his lips, sucking hard on it. He lets it go.

"Inside me," he whispers, but Russell is already there, bringing his hand back down under the covers and reaching between Noel's thighs. He fumbles, finger sliding wetly over puckered skin, then pushes the tip inside, watching carefully for Noel's reaction.

Noel nods, his breathing coming quicker, less evenly, and Russell slides his finger fully inside, feeling Noel tight and hot and slick around it. He thrusts it in and out, gaining a rhythm and trying to keep his hand moving in time, but he finds himself almost rutting against the mattress in desperation, needing friction, and he can't help being distracted.

But then he looks up, and sees Noel flushed and sweating, writhing on the bed, dark fringe tangled and covering his eyes again. He twists his wrist, and curls his finger inside him, and suddenly Noel makes a noise in the back of his throat and his hips jerk upwards as he comes hard, hot and wet over Russell's hand. For a moment, Russell feels a clenching in his chest, a sick feeling in his throat, and he can almost smell sickly-sweet flowery soap stinging his nostrils, but then he's back, Noel exhausted and panting before him, with his cheeks tinged pink and a satisfied grin on his face.

Russell crawls back up to the head of the bed, grabbing a tissue from the box on the nightstand and wiping off his hand as Noel shuffles about next to him. It's not until all the sheets are pushed out of the way and Noel is sitting near the bottom of the bed that he realises what's going on.

Noel pushes Russell's legs apart, and settles himself between his thighs, tucking his hair neatly behind his ears and looking down at Russell's cock.

"Noel!" Russell splutters, but it's all he's able to do when Noel lowers his head and laps at his cock, tongue pointed as it glides over the slit in the tip, and wide and flat as it swipes over the vein along the length. " _Fuck._ "

It's just like he imagined, possibly better, as Noel takes his cock between his lips and sucks it into his mouth, eyes open, wide and bright and staring up at him. Russell grabs at Noel's shoulder, feeling the hot soft wetness of Noel's mouth around him. Noel's mouth works up and down his shaft, tongue teasing the tip, a subtle grazing of teeth just when he least expects it.

He lets go, slurping, swallowing, and licks at Russell's balls, sucking at the skin before wrapping his hand around the base of Russell's cock and taking the head into his mouth again.

Russell tries to hold back his orgasm but he can feel it twisting inside him, tingling down his spine and in his stomach, and he knows it's going to happen this time, really going to happen, and he's so close. His eyes keep falling shut but he forces them open and looks down at Noel, hard at work between his legs, head bobbing, fingers on his hips, steadying him.

He shouts out, sheets clenched in his fists, coming without a chance to give a warning, and it's like a wall has been broken down or a door's been kicked in, and it feels better than anything he's felt in ages. And usually—usually that's _dangerous_ , but he can't even stop to think, he just grabs at everything and arches his back and comes and comes, and Noel stays down there, lips stretched tight around him until Russell thinks he's going to die.

He doesn't though, and he feels vaguely surprised by this, slumping back bonelessly against the pillows as Noel sits up and swallows hard and wipes his mouth.

The release is almost too much, and it felt almost too good, and that scares him. The corners of his eyes sting, and he suddenly feels absolutely terrified that he's going to cry, so he presses the heels of his hands into his eyes and hopes that Noel is too preoccupied with cleaning himself up to notice.

No such luck.

Noel snuggles up close to him and kisses his shoulder, his collarbone, his neck and his cheek. It's far too hot and sweaty to be doing any of this, and Russell is about to tell him so, but Noel speaks before he has a chance.

"Shh," Noel whispers, running his hand across Russell's chest, letting it rest there, fingers splayed across the skin comfortably. "I'm not an addiction. Everything's okay."

Russell brings his hands away from his face and nods, feeling his smile coming back. He has the feeling Noel's doing that thing where he's _right_ again, but if he's honest about it, this time he really doesn't mind all that much.  



End file.
